


Good Christian Couples Aren't Actually That Good

by cherryavivi



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Awkward Dates, Banter, Bisexual Female Character, F/F, F/M, I REGRET NOTHING, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Lawyers, Lesbian Character, Minor Violence, Not Canon Compliant, author said screw canon, constant apocalypse mentions bc ya kno, doomsday cults am i right, self inserts p much, this is a (sorta not really) joke between my friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryavivi/pseuds/cherryavivi
Summary: Zion's a lawyer with a gun and a grudge against John Seed, the man who was probably responsible for the "mysterious" inferno that destroyed her law office.Lucy's a writer who fell in love with Faith Seed after she waited in line for three hours just to get the signature of her favorite author and gush about the thrilling saga Lucy agonized over for years.Ella's a stage actress who finds herself having more in common with the Olympic sharpshooting, military veteran Grace Armstrong than she anticipated.These friends, always bold and Hell-raising no matter how far away they are from each other, raise Hell yet again





	Good Christian Couples Aren't Actually That Good

   There are few things I hate more in this world at the moment than John Seed. The American government and my student loans were always at the top of that list, but that rich lawyer from the big city was really pushing it. When he and his merry band of dysfunctional brothers strolled into Hope County, the nice little town I moved to after a lifetime in Texas, I already knew my life was about to get a whole lot more difficult. I didn't anticipate John buying up every single square inch of land in Holland Valley, upsetting all the residents and leaving my tiny, self-owned and self-run law office swamped with cases. I was more concerned with the cult killing me or something, but in all honesty, I'd rather face that death than be where I'm at now.

   See, I'm a lawyer, but I moved to rural Montana for a reason. The only cases I had prior to the Seeds and their doomsday cult were divorces and arson (the latter of which committed by close friends, of course). Now? Every single day I'm getting calls on my phones, business and personal, about how "we want our land back from Seed" and such, only with a lot more expletives than really necessary. I've been shutting up and just doing my civil duty, which is why I never complained to anyone asides from my friends.

   Now? That civil duty is impossible to fulfill. While I was watching reruns of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia at four A.M. instead of sleeping, you know, as one does, I got a call from Sheriff Earl Whitehorse, a veteran of the Hope County Sheriff's Department, whose number was practically necessary for a town with constant bar brawls and drunk rednecks eager to sue anyone who looked at them funny.

   "Zion Laskaruh, at your service."

   "Hey Zion, you uh, you might want to get down to your... office" The Sheriff sounded different, but it was four in the morning and he was out in the field, so it was understandable.

   "Earl, if it's another disgruntled resident complaining about John Seed snatching their grandfather's farm or something, tell them I died. It's too early for me to dear with that miserable cult lea-"

   "Zion," He said, with a voice strict enough to make me shut up. "It's not someone else's property... it's yours."

   Oh my God. My property. My stuff. My office. The office I had worked in and run for three years. That I had just paid off. Destroyed.

   "...Zion?" The sheriff's voice brought me back to reality, and made me realize the tight grip I had on my phone. I loosened my hand, cracked my neck, and responded in that dangerously calm voice I only use when I'm about to rip someone to shreds (verbally, of course).

   "What happened to my law office, Earl?" "I think... I think you should get here and see it for yourself."

   "Okay. Okay. I can do that. See you in ten."

   "Your house is twenty minutes away."

   "I don't think the law matters much in this situation, Sheriff, arrest me if you want, but I don't think that'd be a good call right now."

   Before he could respond, I ended the call. To be honest, I don't remember much after that. I remember getting to my office, or what remained of it. It was burned down, some parts barely standing, only a blackened shell remained of my pride and joy.

   The sheriff said it was a fire caused by a flat iron I left on in the bathroom before I left for dinner that night, and when I told him I kept my flat iron in my purse, when I showed it to him, he gave me a look too close to pity for my pride to cope with.

   "Listen kid, between you and I, I know that this? This wasn't no accident, but the powers that be said that we can't launch any investigation."

   "What? Why would someone do something like this? Who would do something like-" Then it dawned on me. John. Seed. The sheriff saw the look of realization on my face and nodded gravely.

   "Yeah. Listen, you go home and get you a good night's sleep. Take a shower in the morning, get a good breakfast. The valley, Hell, the whole county loves you. You can work something out. Don't go around doing somethin' stupid, you hear."

   The look I gave him was one that he knew well, the look that told him, loud and clear, that I was going to do something stupid. I'll take my melatonin. Get my sleep. Eat my breakfast. But tomorrow? I'm not looking to the county for help. I'm getting my revenge, ad bringing good ol' Lone Star self-justice to Hope County, Montana, and right to John Seed's doorstep.


End file.
